


a flame that never dies

by Kagura



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Background Relationships, Bisexual Inquisitor, Coming Out, I accidentally touched on the topic of representation in media apparently, Implied Fenris/Hawke, Implied Inquisitor/Cassandra, Implied Warden/Zevran, LGBTQ Themes, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-12
Updated: 2019-01-12
Packaged: 2019-10-08 13:13:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,354
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17387033
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kagura/pseuds/Kagura
Summary: "Dorian wishes that Cassandra was here and not off stabbing giants and punching bears: she could have asked for details and gotten away with it, after a ridiculous amount of teasing. "In which Dorian goes to the South, joins the Inquistion and saves the world in exchange for friends and self-acceptance.Or: four times people don't react how Dorian expects them to, and one Dorian doesn't.





	a flame that never dies

**Author's Note:**

> Unfortunately I have no beta but I should have catched all typos and grammatic horrors.
> 
> I have relied on some of mine and my friend's experiences on depicting Dorian's journey of self-acceptance, so this is by no means The True Queer Experience.

Sadly, Dorian’s new lifestyle means that he can’t really bring books with him and once he sells his birthright and decides to go south, he also has to say goodbye to all Tevinter’s libraries. The South isn’t completely backwards however, so after some weeks he can at least buy a couple of books for the dark and stormy nights - which is every night, really, because the weather is terrible.  
The first one is _History of Thedas_ by Brother Genitivi and the second one is _The Champion’s Tale_ by Varric Tethras, a version suspiciously thicker and cheaper than the one he read in Tevinter.  
After a week, he abandons any pretense of reading _History of Thedas_ because he is interested in the history and customs of the South and goes straight to the part he is _really_ interested into, towards the end of the book.  
The Hero of Ferelden is quite popular in Tevinter, considering he’s a Mage and kills a great amount of darkspawn on a regular basis and Dorian has even attended a play on him in Minrathous.  
He’s always sounded… _dashing_.  
Brother Genitivi provides details that, apparently, came from the Warden Commander himself, and he’s even updated the book to celebrate the ten years of Ferelden’s new reign. There is barely a chapter on King Alistair and Queen Anora, with most of the new information focusing instead on the Warden and the Warden’s companions, written in a carefully guarded language and citing a colorful variety of sources. Dorian dutifully reads about the new and decisively less bloody Ferelden’s politics as quickly as possible before skipping straight to the new adventures of Warden Amell. He spends at least a couple of days re-reading the events leading to the Siege of Amaranthine and then it’s time for more Ferelden politics, except…  
  
_“The Warden Commander seems also to take numerous trips to Antiva to support Zevran Arinai’s attempts to take control of the Crows. While numerous    account regarding the death of the Guildmaster of Rialto seem to validate this version, it could be argued that the Hero of Ferelden would rather support his lover by exercising his notable political influence than by fighting in person. At least four recorded visits of Zevran Arinai to Amaranthine also seem to support the idea that the two are able to meet without the Warden Commander abandoning his duties. However...”_

Dorian stares at the page and then goes back and reads again everything about the Fourth Blight.  
He doesn’t remember any of this in Tevinter.  
He also checks other copies of the same book while he travels through the Free Marches, just in case.  
They all match.  
Dorian decides to make a deviation and spend one night at Amaranthine, drinking enough that hopefully no one will question his accent or any of his dumb (and personal) questions regarding the hero of Ferelden.  
“Oh yeah” says the bartender, pouring some of the worst beer Dorian has ever seen in his life “My niece used to work in the stables and saw the elf arriving one night. She says the accent really works”. Dorian waits for the other shoe to drop, for the inevitable comment, a wink, _anything_ , instead the host pushes the tankard towards him “We also have some liver pie if you want”.

 

*  
  


Dorian nearly forgets about _The Champion’s Tale_ until he stumbles in the Inquisition. He really wants this “team” thing to work and he quite likes Varric, who keeps dragging him to the tavern and making up ridiculous bets. His book is quite popular, and Cassandra mentions it from times to times, before blushing and badly changing the subject - it’s all lies apparently, and yet it’s the best source of information on Hawke in existence and a better way to bond with Cassandra than _Swords and Shields_.  
He knows the ending pretty well, because it was all over Mirathous when it happened, and it’s not like Varric had anything to add since Hawke _disappeared_ , so one evening Dorian relaxes, grabs a bottle of wine and simply starts at the beginning.  
The portraits on the first page acquire names and stories after only two chapters - the pirate Isabela, the dalish blood mage Merrill, the guard captain Aveline, the rebel mage Anders, the escaped elf Fenris, the lost prince Sebastian and, of course, Varric himself.  
He can’t remember much being said about Fenris in Tevinter. Varric himself talks little about his past, not even mentioning his previous master, but describing in abundant details his hate for mages and his ability to rip heart out of them chests.  
Dorian’s stomach twist in knots.  
Dorian’s heart skips a beat when Varric describes a scandalous affair between Isabela and a Chantry sister.  
Dorian’s eyes read three times part where Anders flirts with a corrupted noble man as they try to steal the silver statue of a mabari.  
Dorian’s hearts jumps and his mouth becomes dry when Fenris and Hawke become lovers.  
It’s all ridiculous - it’s all _lies_ \- and yet Dorian finds himself reading and re-reading these paragraphs as if they were the noblest love story to have ever been written.  
He can’t exactly approach Varric and demand to know everything, so he tries his best to ask about other aspects of the book - that very interest him nevertheless - and hopes that it comes up.  
He suspects that Varric avoids talking to him about Fenris on purpose.  
_Finally_ the subject comes up and it’s all thanks to the Iron Bull, who asks about a red elf named Tallis while they play Wicked Grace and wait for the Inquisitor to come back from the Emerald Graves.  
There are mysteries, intrigues, a forty-minute argument about fighting wyverns and a twenty minutes shouting match about the best way to break into a castle which ends only when Varric quips “Or, you know, seduce the Duke’s son who has the key”.  
“That’s easy” says Sera, who has been waving her empty tankard asking all of them to _stop being stupid_ for the last five minutes “If she was all spy and shit”  
“Buttercup, it was Hawke who had to do it” says Varric with a chuckle “He is really bad at flirting”  
“He has a lover, doesn’t he?” asks the Iron Bull, sipping his beer.  
“He does Tiny, but you weren’t there to see it” Varric sounds incredibly fond “Hawke has horrible timing and Fenris’ best mood was brooding. He could have made a sport out of it.”  
Dorian wishes that Cassandra was here and not off stabbing giants and punching bears: she could have asked for details and gotten away with it, after a ridiculous amount of teasing. Dorian instead has been scoffing at romance books since they have set foot in Skyhold, and everyone thinks that he keeps reading them _only_ to argue with Cassandra after. As a result, it’s immediately back to assassins and espionage and another argument on whether Tallis was full of shit on the Qun.  
He notices that Bull was somehow quieter after that.  
Only hours later, as he falls on his bed, that Dorian finally accepts that _no one cares_. No one cares about the Hero of Ferelden, no one cares about the Champion of Kirkwall and he has just spent all evening with people who couldn’t care less - even better, he spent it with people like him (even if they don’t know yet, because deciding to not lie about it it’s not the same thing as bringing it up). He feels asleep warm, soft and happy.

 

*

  
Hawke is handsome. Dorian doesn’t know if he comes to this conclusion by his look alone or also because of his charm and fame, but he is handsome.  
Dorian wishes that sitting down with Hawke and the rest of the Inner Circle for a tactical meeting wouldn’t make him feel like a fourteen-year-old – at least, unlike Cassandra, he can hide it. Trevelyan has already stage-whispered that he she loves her enough to let her go.  
The Iron Bull gives him a look as Dorian is wondering idly about Hawke’s tattoo instead of listening to Cullen talk about safe routes in the Western Approach, so Dorian immediately straightens up and focuses on the map. The last thing he needs is for the Iron Bull to suspect anything. For...reasons.  
Dorian sees Hawke pretty much every evening at the tavern - Hawke is usually with Varric, who looks happier and younger, the two of them joined at the hip and living in their own little world.  
But Dorian hasn’t really talked with Hawke yet - Dorian suspects that he is avoiding him, waiting for the moment Dorian slips up, cackles and decides to conquer Thedas starting from the beer in front of him. It’s disappointing but Dorian should have probably expected it.  
So when a week later Hawke appears out of thin air on the chair next to him and proclaims loudly “So, Tevinter!”, Dorian drops his book and nearly has a heart attack.  
“Apparently is the last fashion around there” continues Hawke cheerfully, eyes cold, sitting comfortably with a book about Hessarian's Spear open on his lap.  
Dorian is pretty sure archers are not supposed to know how to do _that_.  
“Nothing but the last fashion would suit Orlais” he manages.  
Hawke nods and Dorian wonders if making a stab at Orlais has earned him any points.  
“So you are doing it for the fashion tips? To find out the best robe for when you go back to summoning demons and commanding slaves?”  
In retrospect, Dorian should have guessed that Hawke had a personal reason to keep an eye on him.  
“I had never… _really_ thought about slavery in Tevinter” says Dorian “My father despised Tevinter’s power games. We stayed away from the slaughtering and summoning and treated slaves as servants.” he looks at Hawke, who has never stopped smiling.  
“I should have known better”  
Hawke tilts his head.  
His eyes lighten up.  
His smile now is real, more subtle but warm and open, his posture relaxes and when he says “If I go back saying that I have found a good magister, Fenris will actually kill me”, Dorian is pretty sure that he’s joking.  
_Hawke is joking with him._  
“I am not…”  
Hawke waves his hand “Altus, I know. I _do_ read Varric’s letters. And I also spent the last three years hunting down slavers. Surprisingly educational”.  
“You and…”  
“Fenris” says Hawke, who then raises an eyebrow “Are you by only chance the only person in Thedas who hasn’t read _The Champion’s Tale_? Do I get to dazzle you with my charm all on my own?”  
“Varric doesn’t write much about him” says Dorian “And I don’t like intruding”  
Hawke looks at him, makes a point of looking around _at the library of Skyhold, fortress of the Inquisition_ and gasps.  
Dorian scoffs “That’s not the point!”  
Hawke chuckles, then looks back at him “Something you wished to ask?”  
There is something tight around his eyes, now clear and sharp, but he’s still relaxed. Like he expects Dorian to put his foot in his mouth, but out of good intentions.  
Dorian has a pretty good idea of what Hawke thinks he is going to ask, which is not what Dorian _wants_ to ask. Sure, lyrium tattoos sound incredibly fascinating, but that’s not… He doesn’t even know how to ask what he wants to know, because in the South _nobody cares_ and he doesn’t know the man enough to ask about his life. To ask if it’s true that his _family_ accepted him, and the _nobility_ accepted him, if he _really_ kissed Fenris at a gran ball after saving a countess’ daughter while everyone clapped...  
“I was curious about the name of his previous master. I understand that he is... very dead”.  
Varric had spared no gruesome detail on _that_ point.  
“Fenris is a free man” says Hawke flatly “He has no master. And I wouldn’t tell. ”  
“Oh” says Dorian. He’s not sure about what to say next exactly, but then Hawke asks, suddenly  
“Did you sleep with slaves?”  
Dorian gapes at him but Hawke is still there, still smiling, knives for eyes.  
“No!” he says “I wasn’t a peasant or a servant!”  
“What." says Hawke.  
Dorian covers his face with his hand and sighs, before looking at Hawke again “I told you I treated them as servants. Servants and nobles...the power imbalance is too great. I desired companionship amongst my peers, not casual flings” he winces “Well, what would have been casual flings if they were willingly and unspeakable acts otherwise”.  
Hawke raises his hand “I am sorry” he says, gentle “Varric vouches for you, but I really needed to hear for myself” he pauses, looking thoughtful “I thought _men_ couldn’t that in Tevinter” says Hawke.  
Dorian nods.  
And then freezes.  
“It’s not all over Val Royeux if that’s what you are wondering” says Hawke, voice low and soft “But it’s not like someone couldn’t tell”  
“Did Fenris told you about it?” says Dorian slowly. He can’t believe that he forgot that Hawke’s lover is from Tevinter and _people in relationships do actually talk about things, Dorian_. _They don’t spend seven years together gazing into each other’s eyes._ Dorian hadn’t been particularly discreet. If nothing else certain people in the capital know enough to start rumors to attack his father.  
“How could Fenris know about you? He told me about how things are in Tevinter when _Varric_ told us about you. He suspected it and considering the company he was around for the last ten years, he’s pretty good at it. And as you know, he gossips like a washerwoman “  
“Right” says Dorian. He should feel _something_ about the idea of Varric gossiping about him to Hawke, possibly annoyance, maybe even shame, instead it’s a relief.  
The Champion of Kirkwall knows and doesn’t care.  
“So it was never a issue for…” he stops. It’s not like slaves go around wondering if they adhere to ridicolous Tevinter standards...  
“Is it a big issue for you?”  
Dorian looks at Hawke again. The book is closed on the table, his hands are in his lap and he’s leaning towards him, looking at him, concerned, warm voice and attentive eyes. Hawke _cares_.  
It’s ridiculous that Varric has written mor than three hundred pages about heists and stabbings and ridicolous jokes and somehow failed to mention _this_.  
“I’m…adjusting” says Dorian “A lot of things are different”  
“That they are” Hawke nods “Especially when you are not a noble anymore. I spent twenty years working on a farm and as soon as I got an estathe, my mother tried to set me up on blind dates with duchesses”  
“I thought it wasn’t…”  
“It’s not” says Hawke kindly “She was worried that I’d die alone. And I do like women as well. Once she found out about Fenris she gave up. She has never been that kind of noble. And if someone really has to carry on the family name, I have a sister and a cousin” he pauses “And my uncle, but I wouldn’t leave him Orlesian cheese”  
Carefully, Hawke squeezes his shoulder. Dorian wishes he could put words together and ask for a hug.  
“Tevinter sucks” Hawle says “But in time you’ll learn to leave everything behind”  
Hawke is so sure about it it hurts.  
Dorian breathes. It’s ridiculous, but he feels better. 

*

The Inquisitor gives him exactly two days before ambushing him in the library.  
“I’m here to suggest we embark on the time-honored tradition of doing research while being totally wasted” he informs him, with a cheerful smile and holding a basket covered with horrible yellow plaid. “Grab the books, I have already lit up the fire in my room”.  
“We could do the same thing in the tavern” says Dorian, raising an eyebrow.  
“It’s not safe for the books. And I don’t want any witness around for when I start singing _The Wizard’s staff has a knob on the end_ “  
“You scare me, you know that?”  
Adrian sighs and clicks his tongue “The truth is, what happened with your father is horrible and as your friend, I’m duty-bound to cheer you up”  he looks at Dorian straight in the eyes “And I would like to apologize”  
“What?”  
“I was too busy being flabbergasted by how horrible your father is to punch him. That’s something else I was duty-bound to do.”  
Dorian blinks before saying “If being drunk gets us Corypheus names, I will give you a sovereign”  
“I’ll have you known I was teaching apprentices before you even passed your Harrowing” says Adrian, thrusting his arms forwards so Dorian can pile books on him.  
“Because the seniors enchanters hated you” says Dorian dryly before turning towards the pile of books on his desk, chin in hand.  
“They hated me because I was too good!"  
Dorian can’t help but consider Adrian his dearest friend, and as such Adrian had talked to him as soon as they came back to Skyhold from Redcliffe. He witnessed Dorian’s breakdown and called him _brave_.  
So Dorian is pretty sure this is not about his father. This is about the awkward silence as they gaped to each other - _“I like the company of men, surely you have heard of it?” “I have done more than hearing about it!”_ \- while his father jumped at the wrong conclusion in the background. Dorian is not sure what they are supposed to talk about – perhaps he should dread it, but after nine months in the South he feels…hopeful.  
In Adrian’s ridicously tidy room the table has been moved near the balcony, and there are already two bottles of Ostwick wine and some of their favourite pastries.  
They manage to skim through three books before Adrian throws a sovereign at Dorian, cracks open a bottle of Antivan brandy and wonders aloud if the Inquisitor is allowed to shut down the balcony for someone to bring them food from the tavern.  
In the end Adrian stumbles out of the room looking for a servant while Dorian dumps all the books near the library – and finds a copy of the same book Hawke was reading which turns out to be absolutely filthy. Adrian giggles as he comes back.  
“I have a honest question” says Adrian, as they are mixing apple juice with Sun Blonde and dipping roasted potatoes in gravy.  
Dorian groans.   
Adrian wiggles his finger at him “No, nope, nun. You are going to get me being all sincere, there is no turning back” he stops using his arm as a pillow and straightens up “Are you okay with who you are?” he pauses “Well, with how you are. With how a lot of us are” he waves his hand “Semantics”  
“I am” says Dorian, because he is “It’s just…weird to talk about it out loud” he exhalates “It’s weird to think that _everyone_ knows”  
Adrian hums. He looks distant for a second, then he adds “My first love was a templar” and Dorian nods because that little information has been all over Skyhold, especially once Adrian was caught flirting with Cullen and Cassandra. He’s not sure where that information came from, but Adrian never denied it. “His name was Ser Roderick. Had not we been who we were, we would probably have a bakery somewhere by now”  
That little bit of information had not been all over Skyhold.  
“Not the first man I had, nor the last” he adds “But the first one that mattered” he pauses “The first person who mattered at all” he takes a sip.  
There are two ways this can go, Dorian thinks. He can divert the conversation, tease Adrian, get more details on this whole bakery thing, or he can add something himself. They could sit there in comfortable armchairs, drinking and swapping stories while looking at the stars.  
_That’s a lie_ Dorian thinks looking at Adrian again _that’s not how friendship works. I can always tell him another day, if that’s what I want._  
 Dorian opens his mouth.  
They stop talking only when they realize that the tavern is closing down. Then they stumble on Adrian’s huge (and ugly) bed and don’t wake up until noon. 

 

*

 

“…and that was it, big guy” finishes Bull suddenly, still looking down from the balcony at the enormous Orlesian garden in front of them. The end to their debate on whether that golden monstrosity in the middle is made of pure gold ( _of course it is_ ) is abrupt and his voice is stil low, meant only for Dorian’s ears, which means that it’s a signal.  
Dorian snorts. He has been expecting some awkward confrontation since Vivienne sent Countess de Hacy’s _Dawn Day_ guest list, which included his mother’s childhood friend Magister Arona. Apparently, after sneakily looking at him before the hunt, after the hunt and during dinner, the woman had decided to hide between silky pink curtains and wait until he is alone to corner him.  
It’s exactly what Leliana hoped for, but Dorian wishes his countrymen wouldn’t lurk in the shadows like villains from shitty novels.  
“If we are going to keep admiring this exquisite decor, we need more wine” says Dorian, uncrossing his arms and straightening up.  
“You got it” says Bull, smile clear in his voice as he pats his back and leaves. Dorian and Vivienne had finally convinced Josephine to put her foot down and get the Inquisition _proper_ formal clothes, so he enjoys turning around to look at Bull’s back while waiting for Magister Arona to make her dramatic entrance.  
“Dorian Pavus” says a deep female voice to his left, predictably “How low have you fallen”.  
“Have you seen the view? That monstrosity is pure gold” he opens his arm towards a fountain where a crowned golden nug is surrounded by little silver nugs of various professions, water dancing all over their little heads and swirling around their horrible feets.  
He also bites his tongue - there are many more satisfactorily remarks he could make, starting from the fact that _once_ Magister Arona would have been sitting in the Senate, not sent to waste her time at a minor Orleasian party _to celebrate the start of Spring_ , but the Inquisition needs information.  
“To raise to the ranks of the Inquisition” continues Magister Arona “only to keep debasing yourself?”.  
For a second, Dorian is truly lost - she sounds awfully spiteful for someone who apparently thinks that Dorian is infiltrating the Inquisition to manipulate it from the inside - then he remembers.  
All of Tevinter is suddenly _there_ , in a woman with masterfully braided grey hair and a blue and orange robe, who once used to compliment him in his mother’s place.  
He waits for the familiar hurt.  
It doesn’t come.  
So he actually looks for it – it’s always been there. Dorian _should_ be hurt. Instead going through every painful word, every shameful memory, recalling his father’s face – he feels like he’s just reciting his lines, waiting rehearsal to be over. It’s like caressing a blunt knife.  
While Leliana was drilling him on what exactly he should get out of Magister Arona, Josephine was busy drilling into him and Bull (as well as Trevelyan and Cassandra) the proper way a couple should behave - according to Countess de Hacy. At dinner they were seated separately, so they had to convey how ridiculous everything was through eyebrows and meaningful stares. The real reason why Dorian and Bull were busy bickering about golden fountains in the balcony is that Dorian had noticed the way Bull’s smile didn’t reach his eyes - spy instincts kicking in and forcing him to survey the whole room, his knee starting to hurt, rumours about Qunari loud enough for him to hear- and decided that enough was enough. The outfit Dorian is wearing now was approved by Trevelyan by whistling and is going to be thrown to the ground by Bull in a couple of hours, before they roll in a ridicolous huge, swan-shaped bed.  
Here, Dorian is not the one out of place.  
Vishante kaffas, he doesn’t even need to do this. Even if Trevelyan wasn’t his best friend, he would approve of Dorian backing out.  
“Decadence has always been Tevinter's favourite vice” he says instead, because he _wants_ to do this.  
“You have forgot what Tevinter truly is”  
“I have always known what Tevinter truly is.”  
“With a father like yours?” she smiles, beautifully “Perhaps you have never known the true Tevinter. But you will”  
_Ah_ , Dorian thinks, _there is it_. Magister Arona and her magister friends are planning a coup.  
“Threats” comments Dorian “I feel home already”  
“You are not worthy of calling Tevinter home”  
“Fishes don’t need a name for water, Magister Arona”  
She turns without even looking at him, robe flailing dramatically behind her.  
Dorian relaxes against the baluster.  
Bull appears almost immediately after, and Dorian is decisively more impressed by Bull’s ability to lurk in the dark than he was by Magister Arona’s.  
He has two golden grails full of spiced hot wine and hands one to Dorian.  
“You alright?” his expression is as neutral as possible, but it’s impossible to not notice the kindness of his eye or the softness of his voice.  
“It was delightful. Magister Arona wants a coup” he takes a sip “I don’t think they could have done something worse to Antivan wine than this”  
“That’s why you like it” says Bull, leaning against the balcony. He is still looking at Dorian.  
“I guess I do” sighs Dorian, taking another sip, then adds “It’ll keep until tomorrow”  
Bull nods, his position suddenly looking smoother, more relaxed.  
Right now, Dorian is fine. He’s starting to suspect that he will be fine even tomorrow, when he’ll start replaying this whole conversation in his head, mulling over Tevinter, re-awakening the hurt and anger who had made he realized that he had to _do_ something. When he will have to write to Maeveris and will start to plan, plot, think, his hurt coming back but also being slowed replaced by anger, his shame giving a way to a desire to fight because _it’s not fair_.  
After all of this - right now, _Dorian_ doesn’t care.

**Author's Note:**

> "The Wizard's staff has a knob on the end" comes from Pratchett's Discworld.  
> Title is from the epilogue of the musical "Les Miserables". I really wanted to use Bon Jovi but alas it was not meant to be.  
> Both my Inquisitor and Hawke are bisexual for reasons that are left to the imagination of the reader.
> 
> All of this is pretty self-indulgent - it started with me wanting to write about Dorian and a male Inquisitor being friends and now here we are - but I hope you enjoyed it. Thanks for reading!


End file.
